Chapter Thirty-four
Gardener stepped into the shop, recoiling immediately. He felt his partner bump into him.
The SIO had never seen such a mess in his life. His immediate first thought was that Graham Johnson had had an accident; perhaps he’d survived a gas explosion, and the resulting heap was how everything had landed. Gardener hated filth and dust and mess and everything that went with it. He’d seen better living conditions in war zones.
“Jesus Christ! How the hell does he find anything?” asked Reilly over Gardener’s shoulder.
Gardener moved further in, if only to let his sergeant make some headway. He could hear a radio playing, and a voice in the back of the shop.
“You can’t believe that anyone could work like this,” he replied.
“Some people actually do, boss. There’s probably some kind of organization to his chaos.”
“So, what does it say about his mind?” asked Gardener.
“It’s probably full of shit, like this place. I reckon he’d be great in a pub quiz. He’s probably one of these people that stores all sorts of crap in his head.”
“Thornton reckoned he was a bit of a specialist with electronics.”
“The type of person we’re looking for.”
“It doesn’t look good for him, does it? If you’d been in his position and you had nothing to hide, wouldn’t you have told us that you had a white van, even let us have a look at the lights, just so we could eliminate you?”
“You’re talking about the general public here, boss, most of whom go around with their eyes shut and their ears closed. We’ve had posters up outside the station and around the town asking for help, but how many have come forward and told us anything?”
“Yet they expect us to clean their backyard up. If the next victim was one of their own, they’d soon come running.”
“Too right.”
Reilly lifted one tower carcass and glanced underneath. Gardener couldn’t help but notice the layer of dust.
Gardener studied Graham Johnson as he walked through to see who was in his shop. He was as tall as the SIO, with unruly hair, peppered grey and brown. He had brown eyes, thin lips, and a very straight walk. He was wearing a brown smock. Underneath, Gardener could see a black T-shirt.
“Can I help you gentleman?”
The two officers showed their warrant cards and introduced themselves. “I believe you called the station about a laptop, Mr Johnson,” said Gardener.
“Christ, that was quick. I only called about five minutes ago. Guess you guys really must take this seriously.”
“We just happened to be across the road.”
“Nasty business, that.”
“What is?” Gardener wondered how much he really knew.
“Whatever’s happened. You guys have been round it like a swarm of flies and now it’s covered in scene tape. It can’t be a case of shoplifting.”
Graham Johnson glanced over Gardener’s shoulder, watching Sean Reilly sift his way through the debris. His manner suggested he was a little nervous. That could be due to either what he’d found on the laptop, or that he had something to hide. If it was the latter, then he probably couldn’t have picked a better place than his shop, judging by the mess.
“You wanna watch you’re doing, mate? You never know what’s lurking under there.”
“I’ll bet you do,” replied Reilly.
“Funny you should say that.”
“About the laptop, Mr Johnson?”
“Oh right, I’ll bring it through.”